Sorry for the wait. "The Road Trip" ate my imagination and I have been having to give away plot bunnies so fast I can't keep up (really, I'm beginning to see why they are called bunnies).

Here's one begging for a good home if anyone is interested in pulling out their own heart to feed it:

It's a typical Manhattan speculation scenario— Gold calling in his favor to go find Nealfire and all that. One big difference: Although Emma's kiss broke the spell, it wasn't in time to save Henry and he died because of the apple turnover. Now how is it going to be when Emma has to face Neal while she's still hurting over Henry's death? When all she can think about is how much Neal reminds her of what she has lost? And what about Gold? How is he going to react given his role in the situation?

As always thanks to my awesome beta Noam, who is the biggest bowl of soup around. Lol.

Enjoy.

"Hey Neal, can I talk to you?" Gerty asked, and Neal knew it couldn't be good. He had been working for her for about a month, and had never heard that tone. A part of him knew what was going to happen; really, the list of things that could put that half sad and half embarrassed tone in the elder woman's voice was pretty short, and the most likely candidate was something he had been expecting for a while now.

Sighing, he put the arm load of discarded toys into the toy box, and followed her into the hallway, careful to keep the kids in his line of sight. Some of them could be damn tricky, and the Burton siblings especially took deep pleasure in making as much mischief as possible.

"Listen, there have been some complaints."

"'Bout what?" He hadn't heard anything. No one mentioned any abnormal playground roughness or teasing or anything like that. Neal couldn't place his finger on it, but he knew that whatever was going on had little to do with the kids.

Gerty shifted and sighed, clearly uncomfortable with what she had to say. "You."

Neal tilted his head to the side, confused.

"It's nothing personal," she began, and those three words explained everything; for the first time the conversation actually made since to him.

"It's my old man." He filled in for her, saving her from having to say the truth aloud.

She nodded. "At first I told them there was nothing to worry about, but then they started withdrawing their kids."

He had noticed the dropping number of kids, but never made the connection. Four kids in the last month hadn't seemed so bad—after all, this town was rapidly changing as people tried to find an equilibrium between their Storybrooke lives and what their lives were in the Enchanted Forest. Neal had just figured their home situations had changed and that's why they weren't coming. He had no idea that it was about him.

"And you can't have a business without customers." He muttered.

She gave an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. You're so good with them, and I hate doing this."

"Don't worry about it. Hell, I'd do the same in their shoes."

"Really?" she asked, clearly seeing through his bullshit.

"Probably not, no." he admitted. Maybe if it had never been his father that became the Dark One and he had just been another boy in the neighborhood, but he understood too well now what it was like being judged by those around you, to do it to anyone else. Just because someone is related to evil doesn't make them evil themselves…necessarily. "But I get it, really, I do."

"I just hate leaving you shorthanded like this." With him gone it would be just her against over a dozen kids and, as good as she was with them, those odds were a little more than overwhelming. Hell, it was still a challenge with both of them.

"Actually, I've already taken care of that."

"You have?" He didn't bother hiding the hurt in his voice—the first real betrayal in this painful conversation. It would have been nice if she would have mentioned that before she fired him. Maybe gave him a bit of time to look for something else, because apparently, she had been thinking of this for a while now…at least long enough to have already found his replacement.

But he let it go. As much as Neal hated to admit it, there was a slight undercurrent of fear in her voice and, once again, he knew it had nothing to do with him.

"Buzz and Woddy seem like nice guys. Apparently, in their world they were toys." Her words were egger, like she was trying to reassure him, but he had a feeling she was more likely trying to ease her own guilt. Neal hadn't known her long, but it was long enough to know that she wouldn't be doing this unless she thought she had to. She just wasn't that kind of person.

"Toys? As in children's playthings?" Neal was surprised, but he really shouldn't have been. Just because he hadn't heard that one before didn't mean it hadn't existed. The other realms were often funny places; for all he knew, there were still stranger things out there.

She nodded.

"Didn't see that one coming." He ran his hand through his hair, "Listen Gerty, thanks."

Now it was her turn to look confused and him to explain. "For being straight with me. Too many people would have just made up some bullshit excuse rather than admit this was about him."

She shifted.

"I feel horrible for asking, but I have to know. Is this going to be a problem?"

Neal's stomach dropped. He hated that she had to ask, but he didn't blame her for it. As the Dark One or as Gold, the old man had kind of terrorized everyone.

It still sucked, though, and it wasn't the first time he had encountered those kinds of attitudes in the weeks since his connection to Gold had been exposed to the other people in Storybrooke. If it hadn't of been for Emma and Henry, he would have taken off a long time ago, because in a lot of ways this town was like being stuck back in those hellish months. Gold hadn't killed anyone—that Neal knew of—but the fear was still there.

After their talk—the one when Neal had broken into the old man's kitchen—things had started to get better. They would meet for lunch occasionally or he would stop by the shop. It wasn't the same as before though. Instead of the easy conversation they used to have, Neal kind of felt the people on TV when they had to visit some old and distant relatives. The ones that were far too friendly for comfort but that no one complained about to their face out of politeness.

For the most part their conversations had just been small talk. Neal had stopped mentioning his past; he had quickly gotten tired of Gold's apologies and the old man had thankfully understood that Neal didn't want to hear about what he had been up to all these years. Neal was trying to make all this better and that couldn't work if he kept getting reminded of the man Gold had become. Besides, the deeds were done and there was nothing more Neal could do to fix it. Developing a masochistic streak would do nothing but break him.

That didn't mean Neal was oblivious to the truth. He heard the whispers of the kind of monster his father had become—a monster a hundred times worse then he had been in the village. He had seen it himself before Gold had known of his identity.

There was another truth that few others saw. Even he had to tilt his head and squint his eyes to see it, but he knew it wasn't a mirage.

His Papa was there, but buried so deep he might as well be back in their land. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he and Belle were beginning to pull him closer to the surface. But no one else saw that…no one else had reason or opportunity, and Neal didn't hold it against them at all. It was a painful process that Neal wouldn't even have bothered with had he not been stuck here with everyone else, even though he wasn't bound by the curse.

"He and I may be on slightly better terms then when I got here, but we're hardly confidants. As far as he knows there's a million different ways a job doesn't work out. If he asks, I'll make something up."

For the second time since coming to Storybrooke, Neal found himself wondering the streets alone and bored. Henry was at school, Emma was at work, and, as much he was trying to patch things up with his dad, he really didn't want to deal with that right now…which kind of ruled out the library as well.

It was times like this that he wished he wasn't so pathetically isolated. The only people here who would talk to him were either related to him or his ex. The kids had been the only ones who didn't really seem to care that his father was a douchbag, but their parents had, and now he didn't even have that job. Hell, he would even have settled for—

"Long time no see."

Neal looked around, unsure just where the voice had come from despite recognizing it. He shouldn't be surprised to have found himself walking past Gepetto's shop. It was a small town with few sidewalks, and he hadn't really been paying much attention—his mind had been elsewhere, and it wasn't as if he was going to get mugged here or anything.

"You mean since I punched you in the face?"

August shrugged, almost unconcerned. "It wasn't entirely unwarranted."

"You think?" Neal deadpanned. Of all the shit in his life he had to be angry about, this burned in a unique way. Perhaps because a part of him had once hoped they could somehow be friends—the two lost boys from their world—someone he could talk to without sounding like a complete lunatic.

Or perhaps it was because this trespass wasn't against him. It was against Emma. Maybe if she had had that money, then she could have kept Henry…then August's plan and Neal's actions wouldn't have ripped her heart a second time. But then she wouldn't have had a reason to come to Storybrooke and break the curse.

It was just all so fucking fucked up.

"Want to head over to Granny's?" August said, motioning around the corner.

It was odd how easy conversation came, especially given how Neal had about twenty thousand reasons to hate him. Neal shrugged. He had nothing better to do, and hadn't he just been internally complaining that he didn't have enough people to hang out with in this town? If he could get past all the shit his father's pulled…

"Last I heard you had a job," August muttered, falling into step beside him, "why aren't you there?"

"Got fired."

"That sucks. What did you do?"

Neal's head whipped around. "What made you think I did anything?"

August just gave him an 'oh really' look that could have given Emma a run for her money. Neal replayed the words in his head before he realized that fired tended to have certain connotation of guilt.

"I was born."

"So were most people. You're going to have to be a bit more specific."

Neal rubbed the back of his neck, already tired of this conversation. "Let's just say that apparently there are several parents in Storybrooke who aren't exactly comfortable letting their kids be watched by Rumplestiltskin's son…first born or otherwise."

It was painful to make such a reference to the stories of what his father had become in his absence, but Neal was trying not to run from it. If he could get to the point where he could make jokes about it—awkward or not—then maybe the thoughts wouldn't hurt quite so much. He wasn't there yet. Not by far. But it was a start, Right?

"So what are you going to do?"

"I have no idea. It just happened."

He was probably going to come across a similar problem in just about any place here. Neal knew he could always see if Gold had a spot at the pawn shop opened—hell, the old man would probably make one up if he had to—but he wasn't going to do that. It was kind of sad, but he would rather be living back in his car then ask him for help. He couldn't handle that. Although things had gotten better, they weren't that good just yet.

August shifted a bit, as if he were thinking about something. "I heard you're pretty good at drawling."

Neal stopped and turned to look at him in surprise and disbelief. "How did you know that?" His art was something privet—something even Emma didn't know. A way for him to deal with the horrible shit in his life he hadn't ever really been able to talk about. He wasn't going to burden her with that.

"I hear things," August had that impish grin again, and Neal's stomach churned.

Only his father knew he had any talent in that department. Before things got ugly—back when Neal was still just Bae—his father had supported it, even when it seemed to remind him too much of his departed wife. Back when he was still his Papa, Gold would do his danmedest to keep him in colored inks and paper, even though Bae had never asked for those luxuries. The only thing he had ever asked in return was for a single self-portrait. A horribly inaccurate thing that had gotten left behind when Neal had come through.

A part of him wondered if the old man still had it, but another was sounding warning bells. Few here had even known Gold had a son until Neal had shown up. Somehow he doubted the old man would be passing out random facts to virtual strangers.

"What are you, the termite whisperer?"

"No. What I am is a writer with connections in the publishing industry… an industry that is always on the lookout for new cover artist or illustrators and such. From what I hear, the pay isn't bad, and you wouldn't have to leave Storybrooke."

Neal stopped and looked at him. In all his years of being alone, of moving from one job to the next with no education and home, he had never really thought of using the one talent he had to make money. Maybe it had just been too linked to his nightmares for him to ever consider allowing it to hit the light of day.

"Why are you doing this?" Neal asked. It wasn't unfair of him to be suspicious of the puppet's motives…not after all the shit he's pulled.

"That's what friends do." August said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but Neal could hear the truth. There was a deeper meaning behind it all, and it took him a moment to find it.

"You just can't say it, can you?" Neal started laughing, surprisingly not pissed.

"What?" August's honest confusion just made it all the funnier.

"You can't apologize."

August shifted uncomfortably, and Neal had to decide if he wanted a half-hearted and meaningless lie or to let it all be left unsaid. The puppet wasn't sorry for what he did. He had twisted it all to the point where he convinced himself he did nothing wrong.

Neal sighed. He wasn't pissed about the money, just what it had cost Emma, and that meant it wasn't his place to say anything to August. He needed to square it all away with her.

"I got a question for you," he said, changing the subject before August said something that made Neal want to punch him again, "How come when I told my dad who I was, he thought it had something to do with something you might have told me?"

"I, er…" Neal stared him down. It was supposed to be a throw away question, something he had wondered, but never thought was a big deal. Not until he saw the puppet's discomfort at being asked. There was something here, and it wasn't something he was going to let August get out of telling him. Not this time.

"I sort of kind of pretended to be you when I first got here."

Neal's eyes went wide. "Why the hell would you do a thing like that?"

It was an odd thing. As rocky as things still were between him and Gold, he still didn't like the idea of someone using the memory of what the old man held dearest against him. It was like if Neal wasn't going to be Bae, then the boy should be buried, not used as some play mask for a puppet's performance.

August shuffled. "I was turning to wood, and he was the best shot at magic around. If I had asked as me, there's no way I would have gotten it."

Neal rubbed his forehead and leaned his back against the wall. He shouldn't be surprised, really he shouldn't; he may not have spent all that much time with August over the ten years that he had known him, but it had been long enough to know that's just the kind of man he was.

But he couldn't deny that there was an underlying humor to the whole situation.

"And he bought that?" he asked, not even raising his head to look at August.

"For a while." Neal could hear the corners of the puppets mouth twitch upwards.

"How did you even know what to say?"

Gold was not a stupid man; he never had been, not really. For that ploy to have worked—even for a little bit—August had to have been at least half way decent at the con. It was too delicate a situation to go into without any real information. The slightest wrong detail could be what sent the entire house of cards falling around him, and the truth would have sent Gold into such a rage, Neal was honestly surprised the puppet wasn't kindling at the moment.

August gave a heaving sigh, dramatic as ever.

"Do you remember after we turned Emma in?"

Neal looked up, his eyes narrowed. What the hell kind of question was that? How could he forget? Every second of that night was forever burned into his mind.

"Of course," he hissed.

"You got completely shit faced, and I think you told me more about what happened then you intended."

Neal groaned. He hadn't meant to get so plastered that night, but, given the givens, it had seemed appropriate. As much as he couldn't forget what led him to drink that night, he sure as hell couldn't remember much of the sweet oblivion he had needed so much, especially after he had went to get the car.

It had been their home, and in it was every tiny reminder of their lives together…and every reminder of what he had just done, what he had just destroyed with one phone call. He had half hoped that the cops would get him somehow. All it would take was one tiny traffic violation and they would have him. He would go to prison where he belonged, instead of her.

But either he hadn't been as bad of a driver as he had wanted to be or he just got lucky. No one pulled him over. No one called him out on his actions. He was left to drown in his freedom, so he drowned it in beers.

Figured Booth would be the kind of drinking buddy to stay sober enough to use whatever drunken mumblings he heard to his advantage later.

"Servers him right," Neal muttered, looking at August, "it's not like we even look the same."

"That's what I said."

Neal opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a word out, a resounding boom shuttered through the town like a bomb had gone off. Windows rattled and shook, but nothing actually fell. August looked at him as if Neal would somehow know what was going on. He didn't, but there was one way to find out.

They weren't the only ones running towards the noise. Most of the town was either taking up rubber-necking as a hobby or afraid that Cora was invading…or something along those lines.

A car came speeding around the corner like something out of the Dukes of Hazard, sirens blaring. It was an impressive bit of driving, but Neal didn't stop to admire it. There was a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach as he got closer and closer to the dark blue Victorian marked in the skyline by a gigantic pillar of black smoke. That explained what had Emma in such an exceptional rush.

As much as Neal hadn't liked it, in the end had hadn't been able to stop Henry on his quest to learn magic. He had wanted to…god, had he wanted to. But between Henry's earnestness, the reassurances of Blue and the fact the Emma herself could do magic (Neal didn't know much about that, and didn't really want to ask at this point) there hadn't been much he could do.

It had been decided, though, that Regina probably wouldn't have been the best teacher for him. It had hurt her deeply to be excluded, but eventually she had understood. If magic was a drug, then having her involved would be like having an AA member trying to teach someone how to make moonshine: asking for trouble.

There were other magic users in the town that could help. The one time someone had suggested Gold be that person, Neal had put his foot down (thankfully the old man hadn't been at that meeting). As much as things had begun to get better between them, Neal still didn't trust him. It was a harsh truth and a painful one, but a truth none the less. If Henry HAD to mess with magic, Neal didn't want him anywhere close to the Dark One's power.

The thing about being one of the big players for good on the board was that the Blue Fairy knew pretty much everyone. She was able to put them into contact with someone who could teach him good magic—someone she apparently knew for a very long time and had a lot of trust in.

Someone who happened to live in a particular dark blue Victorian.

When he realized which house was going up in smoke, he sped up, leaving August in the dust. He pushed his way through the crowd, and came across a welcomed sight. There, sitting on the curb next to two other figures, was Henry. He was dirty and completely covered in soot, but otherwise fine.

Emma, however, was livid.

"What the hell happened?" Emma yelled, getting right up in Merlin's face. She had shooed away the crowd, but somehow that wasn't reassuring. Now she could commit the murder that was written all over her face, and there would be a lot less witnesses around to complain.

Merlin looked at her, his eyes perfectly impassive under his small, round glasses, and shrugged. "A mishap with magic. It happens occasionally when one is learning the craft."

"Are you saying Henry did this?" Neal asked, coming up behind him.

This wasn't exactly making him feel better about this magic thing. Besides being addictive, it was dangerous, and his eleven year old kid was playing around with it?

"No," Merlin said, pointing to the other soot covered figure as he used the only clean corner of his vest to clean the lenses.

"I didn't know you were teaching Mark as well." Neal said, his voice not quite casual.

The wizard narrowed his eyes slightly. "I wasn't."

"I just decided to drop in," Mark replied with a smile before he turned to Merlin. His voice took on a poisoned honey tone that told Neal there was defiantly more here than just what it appeared. "You need to fix the roof, by the way."

"Now I do, yes." It was such a small thing, but Merlin hadn't looked at the boy since Neal had got here. It was like he was trying his hardest to pretend he didn't exist at all…or maybe Mark just wasn't worth his time. He had shown a professional-like interest in Henry, but Henry had magic. And honestly, Neal wasn't sure why he had agreed to teach the kid, anyways. Did Blue call in a favor or something' or was there more to it than that?

It was impossible to say.

Neal was good at reading people; he had had to be, to survive in this world, but even as he studied the other man, he got nothing. The Wizard might as well have been written in Greek for all Neal knew. He just stood there looking like some professor's assistant with a poker face right out of the professional circuit.

Emma looked at Mark, surprised and a little disappointed. The kid had stuck to Henry like glue and Emma had grown somewhat attached.

"If that were the case, then the house itself would have reacted much more violently."

"You don't call that violent?" Emma shrieked, motioning to the black pillars rising from the house. It was a little twisted, but with all the tension between him and Emma lately, it was kind of nice to see her go of on someone else.

"Not particular, no." Merlin deadpanned, snapping his fingers.

"Cool." Henry muttered as the house instantly put itself right.

Mark just gave an unimpressed little humph and Emma's attention turned to him, back in sheriff mode.

"And you, what were you doing on his roof?"

Mark looked at her, his face just as impassive as Merlin's, and gave a charming little smile, the ones sociopaths give—completely endearing and just as false.

"I had nothing better to do today, so I decided to crash the party."

Even Henry wasn't buying it, but he didn't say anything.

Emma knelt down until she was face to face with the boy. "You know, I have a superpower—"

"You can tell when someone's lying. I've heard." Mark finished her thought, his voice carefully flat and uninterested, "It's a good thing I'm not lying, then."

There was a moment of a silent staring contest, and for a second Neal was sure she was going to make a big deal out of it and take the boy down to the station. Merlin must have thought the same because he stepped in on Mark's behalf rater quickly.

"No harm was done. There's really no reason to make a scene."

She stared at him in the same way she had stared at the boy, measuring, before making her choice.

"Alright." She said, looking down at Mark, "I'll let it go, but you have to tell me the truth about what's going on."

Mark shifted, and for a second Neal was sure he was going to tell her no, that he'd rather go to jail, but he mumbled a few words, and he was sure he couldn't have heard the boy right.

"What was that?" Emma asked, just as unsure.

"You're stupid." He said, not looking Emma.

"Mark!" Henry chastised, eyes wide. "Why would you say that?"

Neal wasn't the only one to hear the hurt in Henry's voice. In the month or so Mark had been friends with Henry, Neal had learned one important fact. Underneath all that early onset teenaged angst and darkness he coated himself in, Mark was a good kid and cared for Henry greatly. I had to kill him to hear Henry so wounded at his words.

"He's not a good guy and you shouldn't let Henry anywhere near him," he said, not looking at his friend. "He tried to kill me."

Emma shifted so that she was between the boys and Merlin before looking at the man for an explanation.

The wizard didn't seem disturbed or surprised at the allegation. He just tipped his head back and laughed as if the situation was genuinely full of humor.

"Is that what your mother told you?"

"She didn't have to," Mark screamed, his eyes practically on fire, "I can read."

Merlin's head snapped down to look at the boy, perhaps the first time that day the wizard's eyes didn't just gaze past Mark as if he didn't exist. Merlin's eyes held an identical look of fury as he replied, hissing the words. "But apparently you are unable to tell the difference between fantasy and reality. Did it not strike you as peculiar that a great deal of what happens in that book takes place when you are older? And if I remember correctly, ends in both yours and Arthur's deaths? Seeing as how neither of those events has taken place, did you ever consider that some of the other events could be just as false?"

"I'm not stupid," Mark replied, his voice only slightly sarcastic, "but who the hell do you expect me to get the truth from? You? The whore? Pendragon himself? I don't think so. At least this way I don't wind up trusting someone who would be willing to kill me."

"Well then, it would seem you've reached an impasse. You're not going to look for the truth, although you hate the falsehood you cling to."

"Whatever keeps me alive."

There was a moment of silence as Emma absorbed the oddness of the situation. She wasn't the only one.

"Alright," Neal said, breaking up the staring contest between the two, "Mark, get in the curser. Emma will drive you home."

Emma shot him a dirty look, but didn't protest. Mark on the other hand…

"Do I have to?" He began, but stopped when he saw the look on Emma's face.

"Now." she said, motioning to the car. Emma's eyes met Neal's, and the steel in them hurt him. From the time he had gotten to finish his story—finish explaining to her just why everything went to hell, she had been running hot and cold with him. Some days it was almost like they could be friends…hell, some days he got the fleeting idea that they could even be more than that. But other days, it was like she wanted to rip his head off. Her anger was a hundred times worse than anything he could remember.

As much as her mood swings were giving him whiplash, he didn't dare wish she would pick a side. With his luck, he wouldn't like her selection.

"Henry, you too."

Even the boys noticed the sharpness in her voice, but they didn't say anything—probably too scared of her right now. As much as the truth of the situation killed him, the hurt on Henry's face as he got in the car was worse.

This had to stop…somehow. Neal was an adult. He could take her hating him, even if it was turning him to ribbons inside. The kid, on the other hand… it wasn't fair to put him in a situation like this where he felt he had to choose between parents. Hadn't this been what Neal had been trying to avoid when Regina had tried to talk to him back when Emma was still away? The last thing he had ever wanted is for Henry to be in the middle of this.

Tomorrow they would talk, him and Emma. It didn't matter if he had to handcuff her to him if that's what it took to get her to listen. This hot and cold shit had to end.

But that was all tomorrow. Now it was time to track down August and see if he was serious about that job.